Aquila
by 0uroboros
Summary: Dave Jordan is a noble man, a pilot loyal to his country. When war erupts, he finds himself looking for a proper adversary, and he gets one.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is an idea I came up with after first visiting this site back in August. Before then, I was never into fanfics, but they grew on me rather quickly. But soon after finally deciding to start writing this, I started working, which naturally cut deeply into my amount of free time. So _Aquila_, as presented here, will be fairly condensed. Of course, I will be trying to get my full story across to you, but at least for now the chapters will be somewhat short (although the prologue was always intended to be so) and fast-paced. But please, I hope you all still manage to enjoy my first foray into the fanfic scene.

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

**Wednesday, 6 August 2003 - Area 26021-3**

An explosion.

A siren goes off, and anti-aircraft artillery cannons come to life.

Not for long. Low-flying attackers quickly make a sweep of the guns, taking them out before focusing on some howitzers that were being brought out. The enemy, caught by surprise, does their best to scramble fighters to intercept them.

It is futile. The invaders brought fighters of their own, which suddenly drop down from the sky and unleash a hail of fire upon the pilots desperately trying to claw their way skyward. They didn't stand a chance.

They know why they're being attacked. They knew this day would come, but they could not prepare for what was happening. Incoming ground forces are spotted, and tanks are deployed. But this is nearly just a formality; they have no cover left. The attackers come in again and rack up some easy kills.

But they do it carefully. They avoid damaging the infrastructure. They don't want it out of the way. They intend to keep the base as their own.

The ground forces pull in closer. Troops at the base still resist, despite the fact that they know their efforts are in vain. They get picked off, one by one, as they slowly retreat, as if hoping to find some kind of advantageous refuge from which they can stave off these fiends.

But to no avail.

How long has it been? Days? Weeks? It feels as though an eternity. For hours, this goes on.

They begin to take their tanks to the runway, knowing that the enemy will need this later on. If they are attacked, the steel carcases will block it and no planes can land. But of course, none can leave, either. They are attacked from the air as they try, but press on in near-ignorance.

At this point, they know they won't survive.

The invading tanks simply break through and ram the few vehicles that could make it to the runway back off of it. They have every advantage, and they know it. So far, they'd been unstoppable, and that wasn't going to change here.

The remaining enemy troops are rounded up and imprisoned. The victors settle in, and send some men to the control tower. Their planes begin to land at the airfield.

And the war has only just begun.


	2. Incoming

**Chapter 2: Incoming**

**Tuesday, 21 September 2003 - Captured enemy facility**

"Red Alert," said a voice over the PA, "unknown aircraft inbound. Pilots to your planes."

A blond-haired man set down a copy of _Usea Today_, got up from his seat in the crew lounge, and began walking down the hall toward the hangar.

"Gene," he called upon entering.

A somewhat uneasy-looking young man looked over in his direction.

"Yes, Major," he yelled over the noise of a plane starting its engines as it was being towed out of the opposite end of the bay. As it moved out, its paint gleamed in the midday sun.

"My helmet," the blond man replied, nodding his head in the direction of one sitting on a table next to Gene.

Gene picked up the flight helmet and tossed it over to the Major.

"Good boy," the Major said as he made his way over to the Su-37 nearest him. He donned the helmet and climbed the ladder into the cockpit, and performed his pre-flight checks as the ground crews moved his plane onto the flight line. Once he'd gotten his engines started, he waited for another plane in his flight to taxi by, and fell in behind it.

"Fighters, you are clear to go," the tower controller announced. "Intercept and identify the aircraft to our north."

"Roger that, tower," the Major acknowledged.

The flight quickly made their way into the air and turned to a heading of 005. After a few minutes, the tower called in to ask for a visual.

"I have no joy," the Major answered them. "Anyone else?"

"Nothing," agreed a wingman.

"High!"

The Major looked up, spotting an aircraft above them. Not a fighter, but he went up to investigate. It was an Air Ixiom 767, lazily flying through the air.

"Tower, is this some sort of joke? It's a civilian passenger liner," he said. "Unless you have something else on your scope, I suggest you put in to command for some better equipment to replace what was left behind when we arrived."

Suddenly, an F-16 screamed over his aircraft, startling the Major.

"What the hell was that?!"

One of his wingmen had already given chase and identified it.

"Enemy fighter, sir! Headed toward the base," she said.

"Copy that, leave it to me," replied the Major. "There must be more than one; all of you keep an eye out and don't let any through."

He gave chase to the Falcon, which turned back the way it came and did everything it could to keep from being attacked. In the next few minutes, his wingmen reported three other planes, which behaved similarly.

"Tower, the enemy craft all seem to be running scared," the Major reported. "I suggest we let them go."

"Negative. Continue pursuit," was all he got back.

After a few more minutes, he grew suspicious that the planes they were chasing had not made a single attempt to engage them, but he and his squadron had been strung out far to the north.

"Tower, something's not right here," he said. "The enemy aircraft have not made any attempts to engage us. I think that either they're here for recon or they're leading us out to an ambush."

"Major, if they want to ambush _you_, let's let them. It ought to keep them off our backs for a while. Continue pursuit."

He let out an audible sigh. "Roger that. Squad, continue pursuit, but do not fire unless you are fired upon." The Major didn't like it, but he followed his orders. The chase dragged on for an incredible amount. _These pilots are good_, he thought, _but I'd kind of like to see how they handle in an actual fight_. The landscapes below them changed; the desert turned to grassland. In the distance he saw some hills and a large lake... And a multitude of darting specks up against the sky ahead of them - more fighters. They'd been drawn out into enemy territory, and they were about to enter head-on into a dogfight.

"All aircraft, prepare to engage," he ordered.

His radar showed eleven new aircraft. _Three on one? Really?_ He hated situations like this, but knew that this was just how things worked.

He broke off from the plane he had been pursuing, and quickly passed in front of one being chased by one of his wingmen, drawing its attention. The enemy planes began their attack.

In a swarm, the enemy planes' behaviour morphed to become more erratic and reckless, in what must have been some sort of strategic oversight or failure. Regardless of the cause, the Major quickly took advantage of the situation. He latched on to an F-16 that had given chase to a wingman of his, and kept up a brief pursuit before finding another bogey on his own tail. He broke from the plane ahead of him, his pursuer keeping in tow. One quick Pugachev's cobra and a flash of bullets was all it took to send his prey plummeting into the lake, and the Major quickly scanned for his next target.

After picking out a nearby F-15, he made his way over and slid in behind it, to which it responded by attempting to pull away. Not the best idea. The Major let loose an Alamo missile, which quickly found its mark, sending another burning heap of wreckage into the water below.

After this kill, the Major checked his six to find that he was being tailed by another enemy aircraft. He performed some lazy turns to lull the pilot while coaxing him away from the cluster. After dragging him along for a comfortable distance, the Major suddenly pulled a Herbst manoeuvre, turning him around and taking him away from his pursuer; that is, until they pulled around to continue the chase. As soon as they did, though, the Major performed a tight Immelmann, pointing his plane toward the other, and letting loose a cannon barrage that obliterated his adversary's cockpit. As he turned back toward the main event, he watched on as the hulk of the other fighter glided into a nearby hillside.

He took a moment to scan the area around him and see how the rest of his squad was doing. They all seemed to be doing well, but so far he was still leading them in kills. He looked up and spotted an F-22 straddling the outside of the swarm, and witnessed it launch what turned out to be a QAAM at one of his wingmen, forcing them to break off their pursuit. He pulled up and in, giving chase to it. This plane was a wily one, its pilot flying like a madman. They dragged him all around the battlefield, and nearly caused him to crash into the shore near the lake. He became peeved with this pilot, and opened fire on the plane with his guns. The pilot in the F-22 pulled up to avoid the barrage and went back over the Major's head, but still took a few shots along their back. The Major made a sharp 180 to keep after his prey and fired an Archer at them. The Raptor attempted to evade by pulling up and left into a diagonal loop, causing the missile to pass underneath, but it still came close enough to set off its proximity fuse, damaging the plane but not taking it out of commission. The Major closed in for one more pass, lined up his guns, and pulled the trigger. The bullets ripped through the craft, and it became swallowed in flames, plummeting down to the earth, where it crashed into a small house on a cape. The Major saw this and flew down for a closer look. He circled the site, quietly hoping that the home was empty, before continuing on with the fight. He later surmised that the F-22 was the squadron leader, because after his loss the enemy force seemed even less organised, and none of the other aircraft fought as well as it did. That being said, it didn't take much longer to finish off the rest of the enemy force, and after the fight, the squadron wasted no time heading to base, as their fuel was beginning to run low.

The flight back was fairly quiet, and the Major's mind kept going back to that house on the cape. He tried to get his mind off of it by jumping into some small talk between his wingmen.

While approaching the airfield, the Major took in the vista of the facility they were based at. A large expanse of desert, with hills scattered about. A dry riverbed running nearby. A somewhat modestly sized number of facilities for the amount of service members that were stationed there. The airstrip, with its long main runway, a shorter secondary one angled off of it nearby, and a couple of aircraft hangars on the main ramp. And at the centre of it all, eight large cannons arranged in a broad ring.

"Major, you are cleared to land. Good job today," the voice of the ATC cut in, breaking his line of thought.

"Roger that, tower. Thanks."

His Terminator, the last to come in, glided gracefully to touchdown on the main runway. He taxied back to his squadron's hangar, shut down, and exited the plane as ground crews were already beginning to swarm around it. He and his wingmen made their way inside and over to the briefing room, where their commander was waiting for them.

"Glad to see you're still at five, 13," he said

"I'd hope so; that was almost a fair fight we had today," the Major replied with a slight grimace as he took a seat.

"If you say so. Now, I'd like to throw in just a quick word about today's events; there is one thing I couldn't help but notice about your performance: the first one of you to spot, I.D., _and_ chase the intruders, managed to shoot down only _one_ aircraft today," he remarked, looking at the Major's female wingman. "Care to explain, 4?"

She didn't seem uneasy, but did glance over at the Major in a way that made him think she was a tad nervous.

"First Lieutenant," the commander added, "I'd like you to keep in mind that you have the lowest kill score in this squadron. One of these days we may have to deal with the enemy attempting to dish out a real invasion here, you'll have to be able to deal with a lot more than you did today."

4 leaned back in her chair, but her expression didn't change. "Yes, sir," she replied weakly.

The commander contemplated continuing his discussion of the matter, but decided against doing so. He knew that they'd still put up an excellent fight, and were all probably fairly tired at this point. "Major Jordan, you and your squadron are dismissed," he said as he left the room.

The Major stood up, and saw that his squadron seemed to be waiting for a final word from him.

"Yellow Squadron," he said, "dismissed."

Back in his quarters, Jordan thought about what the commander said about Yellow 4 during their debrief. He'd known the Major General for just about as long as he was in the air force, and he knew he was a reasonable man. But he also knew that the commander was right. Yellow 4 hesitated in combat. He'd known her since she was just a girl, and had even trained her himself. It was for this reason that he made sure to keep her nearby when they were in the air.

But he knew he couldn't do that forever. One day, he would be too overwhelmed, or get separated from her, or even just distracted for a split second. She would have to hold her own. He knew she could, of course. It was the question of whether she _would_ that worried him.


	3. Assault

**Chapter 3: Assault**

**Saturday, 17 April 2004 - Stonehenge Turret Network**

Jordan was sitting in the mess hall with some of his squadron members who were still finishing their lunch. The intercom beeped, and they all looked up at it.

"Enemy aircraft inbound! Yellow Squadron, scramble!"

His squad took a glance at their plates, and then at Jordan, who was already headed for the door. They all quickly got up and followed.

He was expecting this. Without any time wasted, he entered the hangar and went to his Terminator. As soon as he was in, the plane was being towed outside as he checked his systems and started his engines. As the squadron began to taxi, he radioed the tower for a sitrep.

"Major, we have two dozen fighters making their way in from the south. Intercept and destroy them as quickly as possible."

"Some birthday this is shaping up to be," said one of Jordan's wingmen.

"Can it, Alex," chuckled another in response.

"I'm just sayin'," Alex replied. "If the same thing happened to you, Jim, you know you'd be complaining."

"Alright, focus everyone. Yellow 13, taking off," Jordan announced.

His Terminator lifted off and turned to heading 180. The rest of the squadron quickly fell into their classic V-shape formation as they got up to altitude.

"Alex, James! Are you two ready for your first real mission?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," he got in response.

A few minutes later, his radar spike warning sounded and he saw a line of missiles headed for the squadron.

"XLAAs! Everyone, break!"

13 and 4 pulled up, while the elements on the sides burst outward. It didn't take much more to evade the missiles from head-on, and the Yellows reassembled in a looser formation.

"I expect none of you to try an attack like that one," Jordan ordered. "Focus on any aircraft carrying anti-ground ordinance, and don't worry about double-teaming until we get their numbers down."

He spotted the oncoming fighters and confirmed their type.

"CIC, aircraft are type F-15, mix of Charlie and Echo models," he said as he looked around. He looked up. "And one AWACS, type E-767. Yellow 4, take care of that, will you?"

"Yes, sir!"

Jordan was already lining up his sights when he said, "Everyone else, engage as you see fit. Stick to your cannons until that jammer is down." He unleashed a few bullets into a passing fighter as the two flights melded into one large furball. It didn't bring the Eagle down, but it caught the attention of its pilot, who tried to circle around into position behind Jordan and exact some revenge. Jordan, however, would have none of it, and pulled a Kulbit manoeuvre to get him to where he could finish the job. The F-15 jerked to the right before going up into a loop, where Jordan used his Terminator's agility to point ahead of his target and let loose another stream of bullets, which the Eagle could not avoid, and it became riddled with a line of holes all along the middle of its back before it quickly nosed down and plummeted to the earth.

"Yellow 13, splash one fighter," he announced. Very quickly, this was followed by "Yellow 3, downed an attacker," and "Yellow 4, screwtop's down!"

"Yellow Squadron, missiles free!"

"Yellow 2, fox three!"

"How long were you hanging on to that one," someone mused.

"Never you mind," 2 responded. "Splash one!"

Jordan picked out an attacker off to his 10 o'clock and turned to trail it. Before he could get a lock on, though, they picked up on his radar tracking and began pulling away. Jordan easily kept up with the F-15's manoeuvres until he found a window to attack, firing an Archer which closed in and detonated on the Eagle's wing, sending it spinning out of the battle. Without missing a beat, he moved on to another attacker that was trying to escape the onslaught and fired. His Archer followed close enough to take out its engines, forcing the pilot to eject. Before he turned back, he noticed another one passing by about a kilometre below him, and dropped down to intercept it. This time, he stuck to his cannon, unleashing a barrage of fire into its back from above that caused it to explode. A split second later, Jordan found himself with a missile warning alarm, and pulled back hard on the stick. He was being engaged by a fighter, and switched to his QAAMs to deal with it. The pilot of the Eagle tried to hit Jordan with their gun, but the bullets could only trail him as he took his Terminator into a loop. The other pilot overshot and tried to loop around after him, but couldn't stay on par with Jordan, who doubled back and fired one of his Alamos at the opposing fighter. They turned and pulled a hard-g turn away, but still found themselves being followed by the QAAM. Even through some tight spiralling and a couple of loops to either side, it still closed in, before finally colliding with its target and allowing Jordan to shift his focus elsewhere.

He eyed a cluster of Eagles to his right and moved in on them. As he did, a couple of them split off to either direction to avoid him, but this only attracted his attention. He chose to follow the attacker that broke right. In its relatively lazy turn, it didn't stand much of a chance against Jordan's Terminator as it accelerated in and poured a round of bullets into the rear of the F-15.

During this, Yellow 4 had come in to take on the other attacker that had split off, eliminating it with an Archer after a brief chase. As she did, Jordan zoomed by the remaining aircraft to attract their attention, successfully drawing them into following him while she fell in behind them, switching to her Adder missiles, and keeping her distance as she gained locks on the enemy planes.

"Yellow 4, Fox Three!"

The radar spike warning that Jordan had been hearing faded away as he heard the puffs of explosions going on behind him. He looked back to see that 4 had taken out all but one plane with her XMAAs, and was now in the midst of eliminating the last one with her cannon.

Jordan noticed a trio of Eagles trying to pull away from the skirmish and head for the base, two attackers backed up by a fighter. He moved out to trail them, but suddenly found himself with a radar spike warning. In his distraction, another fighter had made its way in behind him and got a lock on his plane. He pulled up just in time to get away as the fighter launched a missile at him. Halfway through, he tightened his loop to lose the missile and line up with his pursuer, locking on and firing a QAAM at them to get them off of his tail. He turned his attention back to the escaping trio, ignoring the QAAM's impact on the fleeing Eagle. He acquired a lock on one of the attackers and fired, before quickly switching his lock to the other attacker and launching another missile for it.

"Yellow 13, fox two, fox two!"

As he fired at the attackers, they each dropped a long-range anti-ground missile, which ignited and sped off toward the base. They then split formation, going in either direction and dropping flares to evade Jordan's missiles. Jordan turned to follow the aircraft headed left, and fired another missile at it. The pilot tried to jerk back and head in the other direction, but met his demise in doing so. Jordan turned around to take care of the other Eagle, and spotted it in the midst of firing a second AGM. Before he could stop it, though, he found their fighter escort coming at him head-on. He flashed his cannon before quickly pulling up, narrowly avoiding a collision with the other plane. Before going after it, though, Jordan continued after the attacker, firing another Archer at it before coming under another attack from its escort. He performed a Kulbit to let the Eagle pass him, then another to line up and fire an Alamo at them as they pulled off again. Of course, the QAAM found its mark, freeing Jordan up to go after the attacker unopposed. That is, until he saw that his last missile had tracked successfully, leaving behind a plume of smoke and a twisted, burning heap of wreckage falling to the earth. With no time wasted, he returned to the main skirmish, where the rest of his squadron had been cleaning up quite nicely. There were only 6 planes left, evenly split between attackers and fighters from what he could see.

Back at the base, a radar operator began calling out incoming hits that were being picked up on the scope.

"We've got three missiles inbound; Mavericks! AAA, attempt intercept! Protect those cannons!

The army had only installed anti-aircraft artillery, no real CIWS systems, meaning that the base was still vulnerable to missiles. Their flak managed to take out only one missile, while the other two converged on one of the cannons and ploughed into the joint between the base and the barrel. The cannons were tough, but they weren't built for war, and hence were not hardened against attacks like these. The explosions ripped through the joint, bringing the barrel of the gun crashing down and effectively taking it out of commission. CIC chimed in on the radio with the announcement.

"Major! We've been hit! Remember, those attackers are top priority; take them out as soon as possible!"

"I hear you, command. We're doing our best to handle the situation," he responded as he pulled behind another attacker. It initiated its getaway attempt with a split-s, which was nothing that Jordan couldn't keep up with. A tight Chandelle yielded the same result, with Jordan not only keeping up, but closing in to gain a missile lock, committing another plane back to the Earth below. He watched on as one of his wingmen engaged the last attacker and shot it down, followed by their proclaiming the kill.

"All attackers are down!"

Jordan looked out and saw a couple of fighters double-teaming another member of his flight, and swooped in to assist.

"Gibbs! I'm trailing the bandits on your tail; prepare to break," he ordered.

"Copy that, lead," his number 5 acknowledged. "Breaking in 3, 2, 1." His plane suddenly jerked up into a Kulbit and flew over the bogeys as Jordan launched a pair of QAAMs at them.

"Fox three, fox three!"

Both F-15s split formation and tried to pull away, but Jordan's missiles were unstoppable, looping around to follow them in paths that ended up in two fiery collisions, ending the fight in victory.

"CIC, Thirteen here. Looks like all bogeys here are down. How are things on your end looking?"

"We've got a cannon down, but we're still more than attack capable. We're still scanning the surrounding airspace, so stay sharp."

"Roger."

The squadron waited patiently for about a minute or so before command came back on.

"Yellow, we have grandslam. Picture is clear, RTB."

"Roger that. Yellow Squadron, fall in on me."

Jordan's wingmen immediately formed up behind him in their v-formation as they all turned back toward the fortress.

Jordan called up the ATC as they approached the facility.

"Stonehenge Tower, Yellow Squadron is inbound to land."

"Roger, Yellow Squadron, make left approach to runway 30."

All of the planes lined up and landed one by one, following 13 all the way back to the hangar. They went straight from there to the briefing room to meet with the Major General.

"General Hartman," Jordan greeted. "Good afternoon."

"Afternoon Major; everyone," he replied as the squad took their seats. He picked up a small remote control from an end table to his side, and pressed one of the buttons. The ceiling-mounted projector turned on, displaying on the screen a graphic reconstruction of the battle based on the radar data that was collected, as the General began the debriefing.

"Well, as you _may _know, today at approximately 1300 hours, Independent State Allied Forces attempted an air attack on our base and the STN. Their flight was comprised of twenty-four F-15s, one dozen each of fighter and attack variants, and all are believed to have been piloted by enemy aces; but that's something to be confirmed later. Despite the odds, your skill- your _talent_, I should say, led you all to an overwhelming victory over the enemy. However, your efforts could not save the number four cannon, which took on missile fire at critical points and collapsed." A couple of the pilots shifted uneasily in their seats, but General Hartman continued on unphased. "But only one is, of course, much better than a complete destruction of our base, and we still have more than what is necessary to maintain complete air dominance over the vast majority of the Usean Continent. And Thirteen, I must say, another stand-out performance on your part. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that your own fighting ability rivals that of an average squadron. But I think I've talked enough. Have a good evening, everyone, and congratulations on another job well done. I think I may even be sensing some promotions headed this way."

"Thank you, general," Jordan replied on behalf of the squadron, as they all got back up.

"Major, see to it that your group gets some rest tonight," Hartman concluded as he turned to leave. "They've earned it."

"Of course, sir."

"And Yellow 4," said the commander as he turned back, "good job today. I'm impressed." He gave her a quick reassuring smile before he exited the room.

"Thank you, sir," she replied sheepishly.

Jordan motioned for everyone to round up. "Alright, you heard the General. Let's head back to our quarters after supper and get some sleep. I'll postpone PT tomorrow morning for an hour, but we're still doing a lap around the ring. Great job, guys." They all headed back to the canteen, eagerly awaiting the eventless night ahead of them.


	4. Transfer

**Chapter 4: Transfer**

**Sunday, 10 October 2004 - Stonehenge Turret Network**

Jordan and his squad mates finished packing their things into the cargo pods that had been mounted underneath the wings of their fighters. The orders from headquarters had come in a couple of weeks prior; they were to be stationed on the outskirts of the city of San Salvacion, at some field runway to ensure a better defence for the city. The orders arrived with a shipment of new mounted weapons for Stonehenge. In Yellow's absence, the army would set up a network of AA guns and SAM sites around the turrets to buy time for the squadron to respond to an attack. For extra security, the STN's new radar jamming facility had been put on line a few days before, ensuring that any intruders would be coming in blind.

After a last-minute mission that the squadron had to substitute for early in the morning, they were ready to pull away from Stonehenge, which meant a reduced chance of sortie. The debriefing had been scheduled to be waiting for them in the city, leaving them some time to get back some of the sleep that they'd lost before heading out.

Jordan finished sealing up his pods and went over to help Yellow 4 with hers. As they all wrapped up, he headed back to his plane, fired up its engines, and took it out onto the flight line. Very soon, he was joined by everyone else, and led them to the runway. They took off to the north and had a quiet flight to the city, where Jordan broke the silence by calling up ATC over the radio.

"San Salvacion Tower, 156th Squadron is inbound from the south, requesting vectors to land at freeway outpost."

"One-five-six, contact outpost tower at 154.3 megahertz. They'll guide you in."

"Roger that, switching." Jordan and the rest of the squadron switched frequencies accordingly and he put in the request again.

"Freeway Station, 156th inbound to land."

The field tower operator came on with a dull, bored-sounding choice that seemed more than ready for the shift to end.

"Roger," he acknowledged as he scanned his list of flights for their number, "Aquila Squadron, this is field tower. Advance to the airspace over the main airport, then make left approach around the lake to the northern marked edge of the runway. Stop short of the tunnel and pull off to the side once you've stopped."

"Copy that, tower. Beginning approach."

Yellow 3 came on over the radio. "Thirteen, have you ever landed on a freeway before?"

"I can't say that I have. Came close once, but it wasn't in a fighter."

"Only 'close'? You're just an all-around perfect ace, aren't you," Cooper joked.

"A model pilot," added Yellow 4.

The squadron formed a stagnated line as they rounded the lake, and the tower came back on for their final approaches.

"Aquila 1, you are cleared to land."

Jordan paused for a second before responding, "Roger. Yellow 13 entering final leg."

The controller audibly perked up at this. "Wha- Yellow," he could be heard saying confusedly away from the microphone. He re-checked his roster before continuing, a little more alert from this point.

"Uh, Yellows, 2 through 5, reduce speed and fall back. Open up some space between your landings."

Jordan dropped his gear as the rest of his squadron all reduced their throttles. As he extended his flaps the rest of the way out, he meticulously centred his plane on the freeway's median line. He immediately reversed his engines upon touchdown , slowing his plane down before he taxied over to a marked shoulder and shut down. He got out and went over to the lakeside to watch the rest of his squadron land and park alongside him, before a truck came out to push their planes back into the tunnel. While waiting for Yellow 5 to land, 3 asked Jordan about him.

"So Dave, what do you think of the new guy?"

"Well, judging by what I saw this morning, I'd say he's got some potential. You think different?"

"No, he's not bad."

"A little refining and he'll fit in just fine," added Alex.

At this, Yellow 5 was climbing out of his plane. He headed over to join them by the lake as Jordan changed the subject.

"Well now that we're all here, how about we take a look at our new quarters?"

Jordan asked one of the outpost workers where their camp had been set up, and the squadron followed him there. Yellow had been split between three neighbouring mobile homes; 13 was given his own, 4 was in one with a couple of female maintenance crew members, and the other three would be sharing the last.

"Guess we should have grabbed our bags before coming over here, huh," said Alex.

"Probably," agreed Cooper.

"We know where to find them," said 4, as she and 13 split off to their houses.

Jordan entered his caravan to find a moderately-sized living room and kitchenette, with a bedroom and restroom beyond that. It wasn't glamorous, but it was nicer than the accommodations at Stonehenge, and was more than he expected from a portable. He went to go look into the bedroom when there was a knock on the door. It was one of the ground crew, with Jordan's cargo pod on a trolley behind him.

"Sir, your luggage. We thought you might like to have it."

"Yes, thank you,"Jordan said as he stepped out to get his things. Once they were brought in, he changed out of his flight suit and went out to see how his squad mates were settling in next door. They had left their door open, so Jordan went ahead and poked his head in. They'd gotten a full-size trailer, with three bedrooms down a narrow hallway. He stepped in and noticed Cooper laying on the sofa, who looked over the back at him.

"Jordan, what's up?"

"Just having a look around. How do you guys like the new housing?"

"Can't complain. It's really not bad for a portable, and the view definitely beats some giant guns in the desert."

Just then, there was a knock on the open door behind Jordan. Cooper peeked over the sofa, then got up when he saw who it was. 13 looked back to find himself facing the squadron adjutant, who started the conversation.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Can you all spare a moment?"

"Of course, sir," replied Jordan.

"General Hartman has called ahead to inform me that he'll be arriving at the airport not too long from now, and asked that the squadron be there to meet him."

"Certainly."

"I'll be sending a vehicle around shortly to take you there, so have everyone ready to go."

"Won't be a problem, sir. I'll round them up."

The adjutant nodded affirmatively before leaving the trailer, and Jordan turned back to Cooper.

"Go in the back and grab the others, I'm going to get 4."

"Yes, sir."

Jordan stepped out and walked across the gravel-strewn grass to the caravan that Yellow 4 was staying in. He knocked on the door and waited for an answer.

The door opened and she stepped out. "What's going on," she asked.

"We're going out. A car is coming by soon to pick us all up."

"Where are we headed?"

"San Profetta Airport, to meet with the commander."

She nodded in acknowledgement and went to get her bag before following Jordan to the rest of the squad in waiting for their ride. A jeep pulled up to the squadron, and they all piled in, with Alex taking the front seat next to the driver, 13 and 4 behind them, and Cooper and Booker on the back. They pulled off and headed back around the north side of the lake, to the main airport, which was being used primarily for logistics. After going out on the flight line, the jeep stopped in front of a hangar on the south side of the apron. The squad emptied out and slipped through the partially-open doors into the shade of the hangar to wait for the commander. After about twenty minutes, they heard the thunder of a rotorcraft above the building, and Thirteen ducked out to see what it was. Jordan looked up to see a CV-22 hovering over the apron, before slowly descending to touchdown in front of him and shutting off its engines. The door opened up and General Hartman stepped out.

"Lieutenant Colonel! Welcome to San Salvacion!"

"Major General; we were wondering when you'd get here!"

"We?"

"Inside," Jordan said as he gestured back over to the hangar.

He led the way in through the narrow opening. "General on deck," he proclaimed just as Hartman followed. Everyone had been leaning on the doors, but snapped to attention at the announcement.

"At ease," Hartman ordered. "You've got to stop doing that to them, David," he joked. "This is nothing formal."

"Have to keep them sharp," Jordan replied with a smirk on his face.

"Anyway, before I have a look around your outpost, I've got to attend a meeting at the government complex. But I wanted to go ahead and have a short word with you all before it got late."

"We're listening."

"Well, while your mission this morning was an overwhelming success, the Independent State forces launched an attack against our northern radar station at Mount Schezna, destroying it completely. This of course leaves a large gap in Erusean defences, so I would recommend that you don't allow your transfer here to dull your guard."

"You're telling us that Mount Schezna is offline?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Northern Command is trying to get some temporary equipment up there while repairs are underway, but the logistics that far out are a nightmare, and the entire process could easily take well over a year."

"Bloody hell."

"You said it. But, turning attention back to your own sortie, I am interested to know how Yellow 5's first taste of live combat went."

"He held his own," said 3.

"I'll have to agree," added 13, and 4 gave a slight nod.

Hartman turned to the rookie. "Were you scared?"

"No, sir," he answered proudly.

"Give it time," the General said, a little more quietly. "Thank you for your time, everyone. And, Lieutenant Colonel, would you mind a step outside?"

"Of course, sir."

Jordan followed Hartman back outside as the rest of the squadron simply returned to talking amongst themselves. They went around the back of the hangar, and through a gate in the airport fence, where there was a rough trail leading up a hill.

"So, the way ISAF has been pushing lately has been concerning our officials," Hartman began. "I know that this transfer was supposed to give you all a break from front line duty, but with the destruction of the radar station, we may need you to begin a new string of sorties; that's what I'm to discuss at this evening's meeting downtown."

"What kinds of sorties, General? Do you know?"

"I don't, David. Likely interception, of course. With that hole in our coverage they're likely to start raiding at any time."

"Couldn't we hit them first? Surely we've got the necessary power, the only offensive forces we've really lost so far are a few bombers."

"We can; that's another topic for tonight. We're hoping to stage a naval assault from Comberth, but it will require some planning and logistical work."

"But that still leaves a pretty open window for an attack. Do you think we can launch our own offensive in time?

"I certainly hope so. David, this war is for the future of our country. For all we know, Erusea's fate could end up in our own hands."

"Well I'm about ready for this war to just end. I've seen them go wrong before." He paused. "Of course, that implies that they're anything good to begin with."

"Nevertheless, we are here to serve our nation. If we go to war, then we _all_ go to war."

"I know, General. After all we've done, I just don't want history seeing us as the bad guys."

"None of us do, Colonel. That just makes it more important for us to win."

They both fell into silence, looking out toward the flight line in the distance, before the General started up again.

"You know, I kind of admire Erika," he said.

"Why is that?"

"She's a sweet girl. But she's also strong. She doesn't like war, but understands it enough to be willing to fight them if need be."

"You said yourself before, she barely does fight," Jordan added.

"That's true. But I know why. We all think alike, really. She's just better at letting it out; she shows it. When she does, she fights well, and that's what keeps her here. Honestly, I feel sorry for her sometimes."

"You shouldn't. I'm the one who got her where she is now."

"And I should be thanking you for that. Your choice and training are refined. I don't see why you haven't jumped on the chance to teach at the Academy already."

Jordan gave off a light chuckle. "General, you know I like to give a more direct assistance to the country."

"And _they_ should be thanking you for that," Hartman joked.

"I wouldn't care for that kind of attention anyway. I'll just stick with my squadron for the time being," he said as he got up. "And speaking of which, I should probably be getting back to them. I'll catch up with you later, General."

"Later, then. See you, Colonel."

Jordan walked back down to the hangar, where his squadron was putting together some evening plans with the adjutant.

"Lieutenant Colonel, you're just in time! We're all heading into town; care to join?"

"There's no reason not to."

"Great. The rest of our guys should be geared up by now, I'll grab a jeep and swing back around to pick you up," he said before he walked off.

Jordan turned back to his squadron. "'Rest of our guys'?"

"Just some support personnel," 4 explained.

A few minutes later, the adjutant returned with a truck and the Yellows piled in. They melded in with a few other jeeps heading out of the gate toward the city. In the town beyond the airfield, Jordan saw a civilian life different from what he'd last seen back in Erusea. Since being stationed in San Salvacion, he had never been on the ground outside of Stonehenge. The sun had mostly set now, but the houses remained dim. In front of them, most of the cars in the street appeared to have been abandoned. Several of them were also stripped of parts, likely by either the military or the resistance, probably both. Off to his left, he saw a pair of arches in the distance that had been strewn with Erusian flags. To the south, he could just make out the skyline of the new city. With the military-enforced blackouts, they were beginning to fade into the evening sky. Only a handful of places in the town were lit up; with enemy forces so far back, officials had been fairly permissive about businesses staying open past sunset, although still only for a few hours.

The jeep pulled up to a pub called 'Sky Kid.' It was filled with some of the army soldiers who were occupying the town, until Jordan and his air force companions ran them out. One of the grunts had left behind a guitar in his hastened exit, which Jordan picked up. He took a seat at the back of the room, brought the guitar onto his lap, and started strumming. To his right, the adjutant was filing through a stack of papers by the chalkboard, before he stood up and called everyone's attention.

"Alright, everyone! If you all don't mind, I'd like to have a word about our very own ace squadron here. This morning, we woke them up early to send them out on an unscheduled inception mission up to our north. A few enemy planes, probably just spying, I don't know; but the point is, I've got a few kills to announce!" Some of the airmen cheered, but quickly settled back down, clearly having made use of their time in the pub.

"We'll start things off with our new guy! 2nd Lieutenant Ryan Booker made a splash today with his _first _splash! Good job, boy!" The other pilots gave a quick round of applause before the adjutant continued.

"1st Lieutenant James Cooper is nearing the line with now four kills! Keep it up!" A little more applause came with this, and settled just as quickly.

"Up next! 1st Lieutenant Alex Free... downed his fifth plane today! Congratulations, _ace!_" The rest of the patrons cheered and raised their glasses, as Free stood up and waved before being taken in by the other seasoned pilots.

"Moving on to Yellow 4! Erika here has gotten herself up to sixteen!" The squadron applauded before the adjutant prepared to wrap up.

"And now, for our leader's results!" At this, everyone in the bar turned their attention to Jordan, waiting to be impressed. He ignored them and continued playing.

"Our Yellow Thirteen bagged three more today, bringing his new tally up to sixty-four kills." Some applause and a few impressed whistles came about, and the adjutant quickly wrapped up and let everyone get back to having a good time.

Jordan stopped when he noticed a child standing idly by with a harmonica in hand, to whom he offered an invitation to join him. He began to play _Una Limosna por el Amor de Dios_, an old song that he'd picked up in Gran Rugido. He'd always had a soft spot for Sapinish classical, and enjoyed playing it when he got the chance. The kid kept up well, as if he was also very familiar with the piece. It was a very enjoyable performance, with the improvised harmonica making it sound even warmer than the original, and even garnered some applause from the patrons. Afterward Jordan thanked the kid for his accompaniment, and the child watched on as he moved on to another song, with the slightest look of awe on his face, before quietly leaving to go home. As the night went on, the airmen continued to thoroughly enjoy themselves, even Jordan. Although he didn't drink, when he was playing, he became enclosed in his own little bubble, not a care in the world, and here it only added to the pub's atmosphere, up until it was time to close, anyway. As the rest of the patrons cleared out, Jordan stopped at the counter to speak with the barkeeper.

"So who's that kid that was in here? The boy," Jordan inquired.

"Just some orphan kid, he comes in and plays for tips. Talks to my daughter from time to time, but pretty quiet beyond that."

"He's not staying with anyone?"

"He lives with his uncle not too far from here, but I don't think he's doing so well. He was a cab driver; went out of work after the invasion brought on those petrol rations."

The barkeep poorly hid the fact that he disliked doing business with the soldiers who occupied his country. Jordan, not wanting to irritate him, chose not to press on any further and joined his friends outside. Being one of few people who didn't drink, he went ahead and took the wheel of one of the jeeps, looking back to see Free and a couple of other airmen following suit. Erika climbed into the seat beside him, and a couple of others filled the back, prompting Jordan to pull off and head back to the outpost, relaxed and ready to get a good night's sleep.


End file.
